


In the Arms of an Angel

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Complete, Family, Father and Son, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death, Rescue, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 06:37:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2571758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Leonardo, near death, is carried home in his father’s arms.<br/>2k12 ‘verse. (Not a death fic, I swear.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Arms of an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> ‘Cuz I needed a break from NaNo, dammit, that’s why. Ahem.  
> . . .  
> Also, Sarah McLachlan happened.

**In the Arms of an Angel**

Leo didn't remember how he'd gotten there. He didn't recall him coming along at the start of the mission, perhaps Donatello had called him, sometime between the first wave of Foot bots and the arrival of the Shredder. Or maybe he'd been there the entire time, fighting alongside him, as Leo had always dreamed; fighting side by side with his hero, his master, but he wasn’t sure; it was hard to think. Hard to remember where he was, why he’d been there in the first place and what he'd just been doing.

Fighting. He’d been fighting. Swinging his blades. Limbs on fire with each additional stubborn push. Couldn’t stop. Had to keep them safe. Ducking, twirling. Lungs bursting with outrage, bellowing; meant to intimidate. Swords singing along to the sound of life taking life. That primitive, tedious aria. Body shifting, swaying. Dancing. Around and over, under, tumbling, leaping, blocking, sweeping, until; finally, falling. Falling. Meeting the bright collapse of face against the graveled ground. Wings clipped, limbs trussed. Mouth full of spilling words tumbling out but drowned in blood.

The world seemed to darken; enveloping him in a blanket of shade. As if some appointed angel had decided the reflected light need shine no longer; their task complete if not accomplished; dimming everything to a gray washed out light. Gray and black superseded hues; aside from the still vivid tones of his father's robe dancing before his blurred vision as he was carried aloft; the designs standing clear and bright. And all the red, crimson touched with garnet shadows, too much of the color causing his eyes to tear and his stomach to roil and flip.

He trembled and whimpered softly. Couldn't stop despite wanting to, feeling ashamed of the perceived weakness. He felt Splinter's arms tighten beneath his legs and shell, pinning him somehow even closer to his chest. Would have been crushing had the resistance not fled, all his arrogance bleeding out of him, his confidence and self-assurance, all retreating, to seek someone more deserving; leaving him loose and soft. Melting in his father’s grasp. A rag-doll, boneless and limp.

The long whiskers of his father's beard tickled the top of his head. A beautiful distraction from the crushing, cramping, sharp, burning criss-crossing his heaving chest. He wanted to see. Needed to. To see what was hurting him like that. Why wouldn't it stop? He started to move his head downwards to see when Splinter shifted him.

"No. No, Leonardo," his voice thick and sounding strained, hoarse and aged, ancient and tired, withheld and tight, as if he were holding his breath while still trying to speak, "Do not look."

His eyelids closed in immediate obedience, even as his chin dipped, but that was more due to the sudden impossible weight of his head upon his neck. As though sensing this, Splinter shifted him again and his head lulled to the side to rest upon his sensei’s chest. His eyes fluttered opened again and rolled as he was jostled by his father's running footsteps. More pain lanced him, needles and jagged teeth through softer bits of him, but it didn't matter. His father had him. He would be okay.

He blinked languidly and glanced up. Over and above Splinter's shoulder, broad and set in rigid lines of determination, the starless sky watched with empty indifference. There the blank expanse opened and Leonardo felt the call of the void.

His eyes slid closed. Began to sink, incrementally into that emptiness. His dreams rose up, visions clear and vague: of siblings, thick with baby fat; of games played and whispers exchanged between blankets; of shivering beneath a bridge, dripping and wet from rain warm as a bath, while holding his breath, expecting and waiting for father to return; of presents given, presents received; of eyes luminous gold and lush with pride watching him, nodding approval, the soaring song of his soul as he perfected another kata; and finally, of the girl, the beautiful girl, with her hidden truth, shining like a light beneath all the dark layers, a beacon to his own aching soul.

A steady cadence distracted him from his slow descent. His face turned towards the sound. And warmth suffused him, filling his closed eyes with a glow that did not burn. That did not blind. He felt his being fold towards the sound. Curling towards it despite the return of the pain, sharp and insistent. Wicked and evil with its glee in making him hurt. But he continued towards it, crawling within himself. Centering himself at its core. The thrumming, repeating sound. Where he could lay beneath it and rest.

His breath hitched as the first thundering blow of guilt hit him, and Splinter murmured something he could not hear. The disgrace smothered him, blotting out sound and vision. The intolerable shame of defeat came upon him suddenly and he cried out meekly. Squirmed in his father’s arms. He did not deserve rescue. Where were his brothers? He failed them. Surely, he did.

“My son, be strong. You are almost home.”

He shook his head and moaned. The sorrow creeping up behind the guilt and shame of failure. He cried out again, a name, and Splinter shushed him.

“They are here, Leonardo. They are safe.”

The words sunk through and past the pain. And stubbornly he told himself he would only truly believe when he saw them with his own eyes. But for now, he’d take his sensei’s word. His body settled as he felt Splinter manuveur down into the tunnels.  His head rocked slightly back and forth until he pressed again into his father’s chest, searching for that sound he’d discovered before his fear had stolen away his temporary moment of relief and bliss. There. The thrum-thump, thrum-thump of that stalwart heart; that origin of all his reverence and devotion. He would sleep beneath that lullaby of life. He pressed his cheek into the source of that rhythmic wordless song of comfort, his father's chest, so warm, scented with everything that whispered of home: herbs and cotton, incense and tea, warming candles and warmer embraces.

"No, no, my son," the voice resonated through him, grave and commanding. "Do not sleep. We are home."

He wanted to say he knew this, but could only smile his acknowledgement, weak and wavering, but real. He was home the moment his father had taken him into his arms.

 


End file.
